


expectations

by badomens667



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badomens667/pseuds/badomens667
Summary: A world in which they are all college students, crowley is emo with a mysterious background, Madame Tracey is a sorority girl, and Aziraphale is a new neighbor of theirs. Also this takes place in the San Francisco Bay area for no real reason. Also Crowley is Black <3.





	1. stitches

It’s active. Holding his impoverished body together. His body. It’s active. It’s a longing look at the floor that tempts him to fall, flatten, and flow away into a thin layer deficient of himself. It’s closing an empty fist and knitting two shoulders delicately. It’s hardening the drained glue of the joints and the parched clenching of the jaw. It’s thinking too hard to think of nothing at all and thinking at once, is it his body? Or will it leave him behind?  
“How was your weekend?” Tracey. Blond girl. Dyed, to be clear. His neighbor across the hall from him, sharing the eastern end. An Alpha Beta Delta Gamma girl. A Phi Fi Fo Fum girl. She had her hair in a high ponytail that swooped in the style of Polly Pocket and walked in the same direction every mon/wed/fri as him to class. So they walked together this monday.  
He wanted to be confused as to how she spoke after seeing both his earbuds in, you’re my best friend in two ears, but he was already acquainted with her forthrightness. He peaked through the side of his sunglasses at her. He took one out in acquiescence.  
“It was okay I-”  
“-I heard you went back to San Francisco?”  
Pardon her interruption, he wanted to commit to thinking, but he was bored of his own sentence, anyways. He also wondered how she knew- and who not to talk to in passing anymore.  
“Yea. I went to visit my friend from-”  
“-I would have loved to go to San Fran this weekend.”  
‘Pardon your interruption’, he wanted to commit to saying, but she had saved him from a lie.  
“You should have gone then,” a sneer and a smirk.  
“I would have loved to go with you this time to San Francisco, I mean.”  
He had known for quite a while that she liked him and he made his best efforts to announce without the humiliation of words that he did not care. He had known for quite a while that she would wait for him to leave at inconsistent times from his apartment every day. That she would work up the courage with the mouthing of words before she opened it to speak. That she would smile and she would ask him about himself. He had assumed enough days of leaving without her, enough days of both earbuds, and enough days of revealing nothing of himself, that she would give up.  
‘An ass out of me’ he thought of the product of this assumption.  
He saw in his mind three diverging avenues.  
One: He would tell her that he was gay. He would go through, again, the ongoing process of “coming out” that he abandoned when he abandoned people who would care. He imagined that she would want to be best friends. That they would go shopping at unfamiliar stores and he would be her wingman at clubs that new to him. When she realized that he had no style and didn’t know how to talk to guys any more than she did, she would question his sexuality, comparing his portrait to the picture of the stereotypical Gay Man that she had framed in her head. She would come to the conclusion by looking from eye to eye, hair to hair, and the way his mouth was passive and small, that he had lied and that he was in fact straight. And this would ultimately do no productive work at discouraging her.  
Two: He could say he already had a partner and describe him in vague terms of nice and cute. This avenue would also require a “coming out” but ideally, there would be so much information provided that that part would pass by. Unfortunately, this would be too noticeably a lie as no one had ever come over to visit him. Unless he followed up this with the unfortunate obstacle that this was a long distance relationship, or that his partner was the friend he was visiting in San Francisco. He had a suspicion she would ask for evidence in photos, and although he would not be embarrassed to be caught in a lie, it would do no work at discouraging her.  
Three: He could flat out reject her. He knew she would feel bad, but he knew that he would finish the sentence with the same harsh apathy that he started with. He would say it quick and it would be a sharp cut, but then the conversation would end. He felt that a small crush would be easy enough for her to overcome as he saw multiple and varied people come to her door each week. But he also imagines she would be embarrassed of her attempt, if she felt embarrassment, and that she would stumble and mumble that she didn’t mean it in that way, and that she met it as friends, or in no particular way at all. He thought of having to walk in the same direction for a full five minutes after this interaction and he felt unbelievably uncomfortable.  
Each one required movement forward so he contemplated a fourth, which was not responding to this at all. This was the avenue most travelled by him, would take him around in a circle, and he knew that some other day he would arrive at the same spot, and be provided with the same options. This was the avenue that he pursued today and he failed to feel awkward in their silence. And simply said “bye” when the campus took them in different directions.

\---------------  
On his walk home later that day, his only thoughts were of the ocean. He thought about how angry the Pacific was, with the swell of its waves how it crashed against the rocks, and wore them away. How angry the whole world was, and how it crashed and crashed against the steel of his skin. About how it turned his back on him, and it stung like salt in a deep cut. About how he fell away and lost the winged things that gave him goodness.  
In his last steps to his apartment, he heard movement coming from his hallway and momentarily worried about a feared second interaction with Tracey, but surprisingly, it was from the entryway between their respective doors, at the end of the hallway- the final apartment completely previously unfulfilled triad. Stacked in front were boxes, slightly infringing upon his own entrance. Someone was moving in. Immediately, he imagined the two of them coming to their doors at the same time and having increased social interaction, and sped up to his entrance before he had to have any interaction at all. Unfortunately, he proceeded to hit, trip over, and get buried under the contents of the slightly infringing boxes- which even more unfortunately, were quite pointy and quite solid books.  
“Ow.” He pushed out a submerged hand to touch a pain on his forehead, and pulled it away when it met wetness. Blood. Red and thin and runny blood.  
“Oh dear!” Anthony looked up, a little too quickly considering the blood loss and the head trauma of the fall. A blur of a person approached him in dressed in white. The person shone, with a halo of light blonde hair, and the dizziness of his spell made them appear divine.  
“Are you an angel?” He asked in deliriousness.  
“Oh my, you must have hit your head quite hard!” The angel pushed the remaining books off of his body, and Anthony began to push himself up.  
“No, no, no, let me help you.” The angel protested, and assisted him into an upright position. The warmth of the angel’s hand on the back of his back, and then the back of his neck, made him even more dizzy.  
“No, s’alright, I can do ‘t.” Anthony needed to take care of himself.  
“You shouldn’t have to. Wait here a moment.” And then the angel left him. He tried, in his absence, to push himself up with his wrists but he couldn’t muster the command. As he wrestled with his own will, the angel returned with a first aid kit.  
“Relax, please.” The angel gave him a smile, and he was blinded by the light of it, even through the dark of the sunglasses that were fixed on his eyes. He stopped his efforts and let the angel look closely at him. It overwhelmed him to have an angel look so closely at him. He felt so seen. And then the angel asked if it was okay to touch his face. And then he didn’t respond for a moment, as his heart had simply stopped its normal functioning of beating. The angel made waited for his response, analyzing him, he could tell, for any indication of what he was thinking.  
“Yea.” He managed to choke out. But when the angel put his fingers on his chin to tilt his head, again he stopped breathing. He felt the swipe of alcohol as it stung his head. His vision was clearing up but his thoughts were even more confounding than before. While the angel stared at him, he tried to clear his mind by focusing on the only thing around. He considered the angel’s face. The curve of his cheek was round and looked so soft to the touch and imagines reaching out and dragging his finger around the shape and oh- his eyes were so wide and yet so clear and direct. He was beautiful in the way that lakes were beautiful- in serenity, in fairness, and the clarification of glass. And his mouth-  
“Can I give you stitches? I’m a medical student. I’ll take good care of you, I promise,” his mouth was moving and it took Anthony a second to catch up to the words.  
Because the angel was too pretty for him to think clearly, he allowed it, and the angel lifted him by the shoulder. They limped together into his room. He leaned his weight on the angel with a little more reliance than he should have. Anthony couldn’t help but dwell on his last statement. What a hopeless vow, promising that.  
“Are they all books? In the boxes?” Anthony asked as the angel let him rest on a couch placed haphazardly in the center of the room- the only thing in the room. Peeking out of the boxes cluttered around, he could see books. He lowered him to be on his back. The angel cleaned the wound a second time, and then began to prepare materials.  
“Why, yes,” the angel chuckled a little, and glanced up at him as if noting the observation. “I am quite the collector. I love books.”  
“And yet, you study medicine?” Anthony is asking questions. He never asks questions. He doesn't usually care about the answers.  
“My mother really wanted me to. She’s a doctor too. And I wanted to make her proud. And I love helping people. It’s not a problem really. She just wants me to be successful and have an impact.”  
“Books have an impact on people, too, ya’ know”  
“I know, but it’s not the same for her…” he trailed off for a second before he reasoned, “besides, I’ll always have books, even if I’m not with them all the time.”  
“What about you?” the angel followed up after a lull in conversation.  
“What about me?” He avoided talking about himself.  
“What do you study?” the angel smiled as if he caught on to his maneuvering and was amused by it.  
“I study Landscape Architecture.” He gave as little information as possible.  
“Oh, that’s very interesting. So what does that mean?” He could feel him applying some kind of ointment- probably for the pain. The angel was so persistent, and due to Anthony’s enamoration with him and weakened mental strength, he couldn’t even resist giving him what he was looking for.  
“It means that one day that,” he swallowed his built up spit, “that I want to restore degraded ecosystems, one day.”  
“And what drew you to that?” He feels him lining up the needle to penetrate the skin on his forehead. The angel was trying to distract him from the impending sting.  
“I know quite a bit about being damaged. Being used by others, and then left to waste.”  
A stop in movement. Silence. And then Anthony looked up and directly into his waiting eyes. The angel had stopped what he was doing. Anthony hadn’t meant to be so forlorn, but, just like all of his strange behavior, he blamed it on his injury.  
“I’m sorry, truly.” It unnerved Anthony how much he could tell that he meant it, and with the ring of hope, he asked, “Do you know about restoration, too?”  
“Nothing at all about that, no.” He breathed in, and received a look, too familiar to be pity.  
“Maybe you’ll learn, then.” And then the angel began his work, and they sat quietly.  
“Maybe I’ll learn.” Anthony affirmed in a whisper, his eyes trained away from the angels.


	2. prophecies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they read together

Zira, or Z, the angel’s name he learned, finished his patchwork. The angel seemed oblivious to the level of alert that Anthony unconsciously adopted in response to the proximity of the work which was a veritable blessing. Anthony breathed his way- one in one out at a time- through the interaction and managed to make his way out when necessary. Z learned his name too- and when he used it, it felt like a curse or a temptation to reject, and Anthony’s internal thoughts, to want to hear his own name again and again and again, felt sinful. It was this that motivated him to quicken out a thank you, repeated for good measure, and all but run out of the door, once the full business was over. 

 

In the coming days, it also motivated Anthony to listen to the hallways before he opened the door, be aware of the closing of Z’s, hear through the thin walls the rustles of someone ready to go- all in order to avoid running into the angel. Sometimes the angel would leave his apartment and pause for a moment outside the three doors as if hearing for something too. On this day, Anthony, who had been running late, had forgotten to pay careful attention to his exist, and Z was doing a bit of lingering in the hallway, so the rush out of the door that he had relied upon to minimize their collision had resulted in that very thing. 

 

The potted plant that Anthony was holding fell the floor and shattered into large cracked pieces. The soil spilled onto the tips of his toes, and the plant itself began to slide sideways and onto the floor. He was slow to react- or perhaps quick to react and time itself had slowed. Z seemed to be slow too- or perhaps his movements were too defined due to Anthony’s attention to them. Either way, when they reached the floor, Z was whispering apologies, and sweeping with his hands. Anthony caught his hands with his own- both of his palms under the backs of Z’s fingers. He felt a coolness that burned his cheeks and his chest. 

 

“-don’t.” Anthony, in his panic, had barked out, cold and mean. 

 

“Oh dear...I apologize sincerely. I didn’t mean to...” Z sounded- and looked- like a kicked puppy, his voice a small like an apologetic whine, and his eyes so large and wet. 

 

“No..” Anthony did not mean to create or realize the response to his bluntness. He re-assessed and softened. Z’s reaction had scared him- reminded him of the way he used to act when- He reassessed- “No… I’m sorry I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, don’t touch the shards with your bare hands. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

 

Z flashed in surprise by the change in his tone. When the flash disappeared, he chuckled, forcefully in embarrassment at his reaction, his hand on the back of his neck. 

 

“Alright, well, do you have gloves we can use? I would really like to help you clean this up.” 

 

\----

 

They piece by piece moved in the broken pot- to throw away safely later. Anthony lifted the plant tenderly from its abandoned fallen position, as if a man left behind, and felt such enormous care and compassion for the plant. When he looked up to see Z in his apartment looking on, he read the same emotion on the expression of his face. 

 

As he found an empty pot to replace it, Z asked “You really care about them, don’t you? They look so beautiful and well-loved.”

 

“Actually,  I just yell at them until they learn how to grow,” he smiled at his joke-lie. 

 

“Ha ha ha,” Z laughed disingenuously. But he did have some look in his eye that he was beginning to recognize but not understand. “ I didn’t realize you were funny as well as good looking.”

 

Anthony was grateful he was staring down at the plant, his hands hidden deep in the dirt, hoping that it covered the clench of his fist, and he turned a little away to shield an uncontrolled moment. He relaxed into himself and into the reminded that Zira was good. 

 

“Yeah, I am quite handsome and funny, aren’t I?” he said with the obvious ring of an self-deprecating joke, “It must insufferable to be around a well-rounded ten like me,”  

 

“Oh, it is.” Z agreed with a faux crinkle in his nose to indicate this sentiment, and they both had a real genuine laugh at that one. In the space where there laughter had begun to even out in exchange for long breathes, Zira took the opportunity to build courage enough to say.

 

“Come over for dinner” 

 

\------

After eating, they settled on the couch, the one Anthony had used as a hospital bed earlier in the week, to have a glass of wine or two or three. 

 

“What do you even collect? Shakespeare?” There were still boxes of books lying around, but all of the bookshelves were full. 

 

“I do have one or two of his books.”

 

“At the risk of coming off badly..” he dragged on, “I detest Shakespeare, he romanticises everything including boredom.”

 

“At the risk of doing the same, I agree. I only bought because I felt bad about leaving him out,” Anthony thought if he squinted a little he could actually see the halo coming from the white crown of hair, “my favorite sort of books to collect are prophecy books, actually. I’m quite the conspiracy theorist.”

“ Prophecy books?” 

 

Zira disappeared into his room to grab one, he assumed, and after shuffling for a moment, he came back with a large dusty behemoth of a book and placed it on the seat cushion between them. 

 

“Pick a page number.”

 

“666”

 

He flipped to it. Anthony shifted his body to lean in over the book and traced with his eyes. and finger, as Zira read aloud.

 

_ “As the shortest day approaches, _

_  at the vale of the two mountains of day and night narrows,  _

_ an angel and a devil will meet to kiss.” _

 

Anthony did not believe in prophecies, and Zira had no way of knowing what he had been calling him his head, but the prophecy felt real. The winter solstice was coming soon. He did look like a devil, especially sitting next to Z.

 

“Do you believe in these?” he acted natural, as if it didn’t scare him to read that. When he looked up, their faces were much closer than he anticipated, and his lips were inches from Z’s.

 

“Doesn’t everyone? A little bit.” Their noses were so close to touching, and Anthony felt his hot breath on his face. 

 

“Only idiots would believe baseless things,” and anyone could tell Anthony didn’t believe his own words. He pulled away. Z had a thoughtful look on his face. He was weighing whether or not to say something, Anthony could tell. 

 

“Tracey warned me about you,” he says finally as if it’s ridiculous, “she says I’m too soft to be your friend.”

 

“Tracey is right.” He felt heat wrestle in his stomach, and wasn’t sure to call it anger or guilt. Or dissatisfaction at the created distance. 

 

”Why do you pretend?” Z inquired, “to be mean? You are so good..to me at least.”

 

“When people see good, they expect it,” a second between words as he struggled to release them, “ and I would hate to be a disappointment.”

 

“Trust me when I say you have yet to disappoint.” And Anthony did trust him. 


	3. falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they fall in love in four parts

Part 1: Groceries 

 

Anthony was leaving his house to get a carton of milk- soy milk- amongst other things when he bumped into Zira in the hall. Z, mirroring his exit, was also holding a reusable Trader Joe's bag. Anthony wondered if he could lie his way out of actually going to TJ’s now that this fact was realized. When he paused for a moment too long, Zira already had to chance to say, 

 

“I see we are both going grocery shopping.”   
  


“You have good eyes, sir.”

 

“Shall we?” And they did. 

 

They took Anthony’s car, and Anthony was embarrassed to have to explain that all he had was one CD of Queen’s greatest hits. He also had to explain away why he had a Bentley- which he had to used the word as a “gift.” It had been gifted to him, anyways. 

 

When they were strolling through the aisles, Zira had reasoned to Anthony that due to their mutual lack of long lists- another observation that was made before Anthony could lie- that they should share one cart. And when sharing this cart, sometimes, spontaneously, they would reach for the cart at the same time, on the same bar. And sometimes their hands would overlap. And then Zira- who was usually white- would turn red. And Anthony who was always brown- would ruffle his hands through his hair to diffuse the sparkling sensation. Anthony would wonder at his blushing. 

 

When Zira looked for something specific, something so specific only Anthony’s keen eyes could spot it, Anthony, without thinking, put his hand on Z’s back to steer him in the right direction. And when this happened, Zira instinctively pushed his back further into Anthony’s hand and Anthony wouldn’t dare lift it away. When they reached their no longer wanted destination, Anthony could only attempt to casually leave that happy place he had met just moments before. 

 

Zira looked over and saw a sample- a prized possession in TJ’s as he knew it would deliver. He zoned in- and barely remembered to ask Anthony if he wanted one to. When he reached his destination, one had reached out, the sample lady said, “and one for your boyfriend too?”   
  


“I-uhh-wha? Who? I-” Zira fell into himself. 

 

“Yes, I’ll take one, thank you very much.” 

 

Anthony responded over his head- Z now realizing from just behind his back- and relieved Z of his attempt at a sentence. 

 

And when they went to check out, an egg was discovered to be cracked in the box. Anthony quickly agreed to go grab a new one from the bag- to avoid inconveniencing the cashier- which Z thought was sweet.  When Anthony took more than a minute or two, Z began to worry that he had gotten lost, and so did the cashier who asked, “will your partner be back soon?”

 

“My?”

 

“Yea! I’m here! I’m so sorry it took so long.” 

 

Anthony felt that this boyfriend/partner business was making Zira uncomfortable, based on his lack of response to these questions, and that it would alleviate that discomfort by just playing along until it was over. He also felt that this roleplay of domesticity would be the death of him, and later that day, he would relive the moments that had ruined him internally to think and think and think about Zira until he was sick of thinking of him. 

 

Zira did the same. 

 

Part 2: Road Trip 

 

“Please,” Zira asked in the threshold of his apartment, puppy dog eyes on. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Please.” 

 

“Nope.” Anthony was stronger than this.   
  


“You want to say yes, I can tell.” 

 

“-” He was stronger, he told himself. 

 

“Please.”

 

Zira was right. Anthony did want to say yes. 

 

“I’m not even sure why you would want to listen to Queen for that long.”

 

Silence this time, and those damn eyes. And so he consented to take Zira an hour and a half away to Sacramento to some dumb old bookstore. 

  
  


“Fine. Let’s go. But you owe me. Something. A favor lets say. One for one.”

 

“Fine!” Zira was way too cheerful signing his soul to Anthony, but it was no longer his problem. 

 

Later, when they arrive at the swamp that is the capital of California, Zira disappears into the store, and then, a quick song later arrived with a book wrapped in paper. 

 

“Sooo?” Anthony’s curiosity won. 

 

“So what?” A curious smile emerged on Z’s face. 

 

“So what is the book?”

 

“None of your business.” 

 

“How can it not be my business? You made it my business when I drove here for it in my car!”

 

“Knowing the book was not in the terms of our agreement. If you would like to use your ‘something’ that I owe you now, feel free to let me know and I will process the request.” A smirk now. 

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I will take that as a no, then.” Zira felt he had won the conversation. Anthony could see the smug enough to rub it off if he wanted to. 

 

“Ugh.” Ugh, Anthony thought. 

 

“Oh my-” Zira rose in his seat, a look of wonder set upon his face. 

 

“Oh my- what?”

 

“The sky…”

 

The sky was brilliant- blue and gold and pink and orange and all of the beautiful colors painted in the most delicate ways. And the look in Zira’s eyes when he saw it- the most beautiful look, the most beautiful sky held just in there. 

  
  


\----

Part 3: Stardust 

 

They were close together on the couch, huddled around the small laptop as they watched Stardust- a movie that Anthony had to be convinced into watching after he declared it “too cheesy”. It had just ended and the lover became stars. When Zira looked over, he saw those same stars pouring down Anthony’ cheeks. He wanted so badly to kiss them, to kiss those tears, to kiss those cheeks. 

 

“This is the best movie of all time.”

“I wouldn’t say best.” Zira only said to mess with Anthony. 

 

“They were so bright...their love...stars…” he choked through his tears. 

 

“Wow. I didn’t realize it would move you so deeply. Here I was, thinking it’s a comedy” Zira had already seen the movie a few times, and he wouldn’t have expected Anthony to react in such a way. 

 

“Where are your tears?” Anthony interrogated, “Where is your heart? Is it in there?”   

 

Anthony knocked on Zira’s chest for effect. 

 

“Sounds empty to me.” Zira conceded.

 

And they both shook with laughter, drying Anthony’s eyes. 

 

\------

Part 4: the Gardenia

 

“Look!” Anthony couldn’t help but smile and gesture at the potted plant in his hand as he walked comfortably through Zira's door. “It’s the one we almost killed together!” 

“It’s so..alive!” Zira could say, but what he really meant to say was- it reminded him so much of Anthony he didn't know what to say. 

It was red for one, deep red, an intense red that reminded him of Anthony's hair. And it sprung so vividly, from the soil- it reminded him of how quickly Anthony had grown onto him- how lively he in fact was. He couldn't believe it was the same plant form the last time. 

"It's so beautiful," was all Zira could add.

"Good! That's good to hear. Cuz it's yours."

"What? No, I couldn't-" 

"No, No, I'm leaving it. You could use it anyways," he gesturing at the lack of anything besides books and a couch in Zira's apartment. 

"Please, it's for you." He added softly. 

"If you insist," Zira was secretly too happy about this gift. He was also secretly wondering how a constant reminder of Anthony in his home would feel. He also secretly concluded it would be quite nice. 

When Anthony left, he was happy that ZIra had accepted a token of his affection and had secretly wondered if he had figured out there was a more than platonic emotion behind the gesture. 

 

 

\-----

 

They cleaned up after their dinner. Although it had only been a few weeks, they got accustomed to their routine and split their duties. Usually Z would make the main dish, so Anthony would take away and clean everything while Z talked to him over a glass of wine. 

 

Anthony cleared his throat. When he realized that he wasn’t ready to speak, he coughed instead. Once, and then twice, he cleared his throat and coughed. He wondered when he would be able to ask him. To talk to him about his feelings. 

 

Z, all of a sudden, asked, “have you ever been in love before?” 

 

And Anthony clears his throat again. 

 

He didn’t want to tell Z about San Francisco. About the man that waiting for him on16th street every week. Of the reason his bills were paid and why he had a Bentley. Of the reason he was so lonely here, and why he came at all. So he told him just a little, and hidden enough to be a lie. 

 

“Yes. I love a man in San Francisco.” He continued. “He was the reason my mother and I fell out. I fell for a man- a beautiful man. But she preferred women. Not for her, I mean. For me, she preferred women.” He chuckled to himself. “Imagine the irony if she herself preferred women. I followed him from that ocean to this one”

 

This was the first time he had told another about his relationship- about his sexuality really. Z looked to him with a deep consideration in his eyes, and care, that he interpreted as acceptance and pity. 

 

“What about you?” He rushed out and looked away from him so that he couldn’t see his consideration. 

 

“Never before.” Z said resolutely. “But now…now I think I may be… with someone new…”

Anthony was too scared to assume. He was too scared to even ask. He was too scared of what it would feel like if it was him, who Z was talking about. Quickly, he cleared his throat. With the clack of a final dish, he managed to breathe through that it was getting late and he needed to head home. 

  
  
  



	4. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anthony’s jealousy gets the better of him, and the rest get the worst of Anthony

Chapter 4 

He was in his apartment Thursday when he heard them giggling and laughing outside his door. He heard her laugh, high pitched and whiny, and then his, Z’s, so pleasant a chuckle. They entered into his apartment, or hers, together. It was no doubt that there was something there. She must have been the one. The one that Z had begun to love. And he himself had to admit, they would make a cute couple- a cute, normal couple- with two well-adjusted normal people. His stomach felt so sick in jealousy that he could throw up, so he ran to the bathroom in case he would.  He was so full of nausea but also so empty. He let himself sit in misery by the porcelain bowl for a few minutes before he rose. 

 

He looked at himself in the mirror and attempted to internalize the gaze of others. He starts from his body. His body. Thin to the point where one could see the indentation of ribs through his skin. Too thin, from always being hungry. Brown, lighter brown than it should be as he always covered every exposed piece. There were small dark beauty marks that clustered in odd areas of his body and cluttered his chest. His wrists were almost invisible and his thighs had a mile between them. He felt like a walking skeleton, a demon, too bare, too sharp and too slick. No good for hugging. No good for loving.

 

He looked to his face. The point of his nose that dared other to punch it- time and time again in school. How keen and useless his meager lips were, for talking or for other things. The spacing of his eyes- a little too far, a little too harsh, and a little too imbalanced. The color- so light in hazel and green, they were almost yellow. They made other people uncomfortable and he knew it. He hated the sharpness of his cheekbones, how they cut out of him, and imagined crashing it into the soft round pink cheek of-.

 

He looked to his hair. His afro, he means. It sprouted like flowers or grass that twisted on itself. It was red, the color of the devil, and a signal to his mother than she had birthed a cursed child. A signal to his mother to name him something satanic- Crowley. He tried to remember her face, but all he could muster was the curve of her turned back, and the sweep of her dark black dreadlocks. That was so long ago, now, and he gave himself a different name, and yet it still hurt. He thought of light, almost white hair, instead, and felt that the touch of it would help to forget his pain. 

 

He did look like a devil. 

 

It’s Friday. Tracey met him in the hall. He glanced at Z’s door. He thought by now that she would have left him behind in her pursuit in Zira. They walked along in silence for a moment, before she asks. 

“How are you?” They turned into the stairwell, dark and dank, and more negative than usual. 

 

“The same as usual,” but actually he was more negative than usual. 

 

“Which is?” They crossed the threshold between the artificiality of the building into the cleanliness of the salt-water air. The old decrepit housing fell away behind them into the agelessness of their daily walk. 

 

“Okay.” They passed under thickets of trees that frame the walkway.  

 

“Just okay? How come?” 

 

“Yes. Just okay, okay. And it’s none of your business.” He didn’t even bother with the earbuds today, but he imagined that music would now make his mood a lot better and his toleration of her more effective. 

 

“I’m sorry, wow, I didn’t mean to push any buttons.” 

 

He wondered if she knew how he felt. How jealous he was, in this moment, of her and her approachability, and her smile, and the bounce of her hair. How jealous he was that she was probably more of Z’s type. 

 

“That’s all you do. Push buttons. The way you follow me and bother me and ask me so many questions. All you f****** do is push buttons.” 

 

He had always been so afraid to confront her, to struggle with her. He had always been afraid of how she would take his rejection. 

 

“What? What are you talking about? Are you upset with me?” She had genuine shock bleeding from her face. And he could see the salt-water condensing from the air into her eyes. 

 

“You get so many of them, so many guys, so many girls so much attention.” How greedy, implicitly, he said. How self-indulgent, he meant. 

 

“That’s not anything- they aren’t anything. Just work-”

 

“What are you talking about? Your apartment is not a shop, Tracey, what kind of work?”

 

She didn’t respond. The sidewalk was running out. He could see where it would split. She kept looking to the pavement and he imagined the tears on her cheeks plopping on the concrete like rain drops. They were, instead, disappearing into her hands, and onto her sleeves before they got the chance. 

 

“What kind of work?” He repeated. 

 

“Sex work. I don’t even have anyone other than-” She was gonna say Z. He didn’t want to hear it.

 

“I don’t even have friends.”

 

“And that’s why I hate you, Anthony. You are so blind behind those sunglasses. What’s a friend? Aren’t I a friend?”

 

“You’ve never really wanted to be my friend. Admit it. I could tell. The way you were around me.” This was an avenue he had never expected to go down with her, but he couldn’t stop saying what was on his mind. He was overwhelmed and spilled his thoughts everywhere. 

 

“Is Zira your friend? Or is he something else?” He couldn’t help but to ask. He had to know this more than he ever needed to know anything from her. 

 

“F*** you, oh my god, F*** you.” Her mouth had dropped in shock, and barely closed between the words. 

 

“I already know you want to f*** me, just answer the question. Him, too?” He was impatient with her, and could tolerate no more her incessant attitude. 

 

They reached their point of divergence, each to go down different paths. She breathed in before she spoke. 

 

“I’ll tell you about what you think you know.”

 

“I know no one ever comes to your apartment, and you barely leave other than to go to class or get groceries, which you definitely don’t do enough. I know that you don’t use your phone for anything other than music- never a call or text and no social media. I know that you don’t smile and your face tilts up and you go far away when you think unwanted things or recall unpleasant memories.” 

 

She stopped to give him a long sympathetic look, and breathed out sigh. Tears were pouring easily down her cheeks and onto her lips and down her jaw. 

 

“I know that when you go to San Francisco, it makes you sad and lonely, and I wanted to be there for you. Whatever you were doing. Whatever you had to do. F*** you, I only ever wanted to be your friend.”

 

She began to walk away her way, and he looked at her back. It was a familiar sensation to him to look at a turn back. A familiar sensation of rejection. And before he could wallow in the feeling, she turned to look over and yelled back at him.

 

“And Z is my friend, Z is only my friend. Z is apparently my only friend.”

 

He followed her down her path. 

 

“Tracey.” He said once, and when she didn’t turn, again, “Tracey!” he yells. 

 

She turned. Her face was red; her breathe was uneven in her frustrated anger. There was black smudged around her eyes. ‘

 

“Tracey…I didn’t think-”

 

“You didn’t think. Full stop. You never thought. You never cared. You were too busy in your own head to realize I care”

 

“Care? You care for me, even after all of this.” He was confused. He didn’t anticipate this reaction from her, ever. “But I don’t deserve for you to care for me. I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

 

“You don’t have to earn it, idiot, I considered you my friend.”

 

“Tracey, I’m truly sorry,” he meant it. He hadn’t realized. He never knew that his actions could have an impact on someone else. They never had before. He didn’t know what it meant, he didn’t know what it felt like when someone cared. When someone cares, he means.

 

She looked at him, and all of a sudden, she began to cry harder. He began to worry that he was making it worse. That she would hate him more. He stepped closer to her. He gestured his arms to embrace and waited for the nod of her head to embrace her. It was unfamiliar to him. At first, his arms felt robotic, and the wetness of her eyes and nose was soaking his shirt, uncomfortably. But eventually, he relaxed, and he didn’t mind hugging her so much, and comforting her. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t deserve love but he sure as hell was gonna go get it.


	5. the angel and the queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they read together, again, or more accurately, Zira reads to Anthony.

 

Chapter 5 

 

_ trace trace trace the grave _

_ hook a finger and use the nail to re-carve the word _

_ hook a finger and go around your mouth as it whispers his name _

_ lucious lucious lucious  _

 

_ then speak  _

 

“Hey- I uhh- I miss you- I’ve been thinking of you less and less lately- sorry i know that probably not what you want to hear- or maybe it is-you left i suppose- to move on maybe. Anyways I miss you a little less- still hurts as much- when I do. A little more i’ve been thinking of someone else- and oh my god- oh he’s nothing like you and I love it- I love it because it means I can have him and you in here and there is no confusion. I’m more like you now- I remember when I met you- you were all edges and I had to work to find my grip and latch on. I’m all edges now too- and this boy, he’s been trying and I love him for it. Can you believe it? I love him for it. It’s too soon, too new, but I love him. Is this how you felt when I finally cracked you? This wonderful feeling. Who knew second love who come like this?” 

 

“Anyways I just wanted you to know- and myself really- what I felt. And now I’m gonna let him know, too. I love you. I’ll see you again soon.”

 

_ And then leave him buried there _

 

\----

“Hey,” he found Zira was pacing the hallway. 

 

“Hey! Hey. Oh, i’m just doing...nothing, I guess“I-” It was time for Anthony to finally let himself go. 

 

“Actually, I am doing something. I have something to say to you..”

 

“Me too-I-” 

 

“Yea, okay, umm, basically, I am saying this even though I know you have a boyfriend in SF…”

 

“What?”

 

“Is that where you were coming from? His place?”

 

“You could call it that. 16th street. The mission. Six feet under,” Anthony gave him just a moment before he followed up, “He died. It was unexpected”

 

“I am so sorry for-”

“Don’t say that.” He didn’t want to hear Z say those same souless words that he had heard a million times from people who were not anything to him, and they sure as hell weren’t sorry either. “You don’t sound yourself when you say that. No one sounds themselves when they say that.”

 

“ I wish you had the chance to say goodbye. I wish it wasn’t unexpected. How unfortunate- the unexpectance of it.”

 

“You were unexpected, ya’ know”

 

“And that’s unfortunate? Was meeting me unfortunate?” Zira looked nervous as he asked.

 

“That came out wrong” 

 

“Well say it again then”

 

“The wrong way?” Anthony was playing dumb. 

 

“No right the wrong part please”

 

“I meant-”

 

Zira had a mas the shape of regret painted on his face. “You know what, you meant what you said. You don’t have to change it now just because I made a fuss.”

 

“But you asked me to-”

 

“Okay, go ahead, explain.”

 

And he did. Because that’s what Z did- freed him even when he tried so hard to close in on himself, to set rules that cage him in, to tie his tongue and cross his heart with circles of barbed wire. And so the burning water he had been holding in his mouth poured out as clear as mountain rivers. 

 

“I meant- I never expected to like you as much as I do.”

 

“Alright then.”

 

“Just ‘alright’?” Just alright? How dare Z!

 

“Alright is good.”

 

“Not good enough.” Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Maybe that’s what the angel was trying to tell him.

 

“What do you want me to say then?”   
  


“I want you to say what you think of me”

 

“Why? Every conversation has to be about you?”

 

“Not every one. But this one certainly.” But also, yes, every conversation should, in fact, be about him. 

 

“Well I did.” 

 

“Did what?”

 

“Expect to like you this much.”

 

And then Z went into his apartment, his back turned to him, and anthony was left staring at his hands- and the heart he imagined had plopped into them, beating rapidly in wild disbelief without care. And he looked into it and he saw Zira. 

 

When he looked up he saw Zira, in real life, and walking to him, with the wrapped up book that they had gotten together that one day that all of a sudden felt so long ago. Zira stood in front of him. He was a foot from his body, but it felt intimate, it felt like they were touching. It felt like closeness was what he needed, and most likely all that he would get, but he wanted so much more too. Zira began to rip open the wrapping in uneven strands, his hands shaking as he toyed with it. Anthony could tell he was sweating, but he could hardly see through the blur that was building in his eyes, that he was beginning to recognize as tears. He begged them internally not to fall, but knew that if they did, they would fall into Z’s fingers running along of a now revealed book- a dark green hardcover embossed with a garden of designs. Emblazoned on the cover: Songs of Experience. 

 

The shake that started small in his fingers slithered up his arm, nestled into his elbow, slid from shoulder to shoulder, and choke him- his voice was shaking too- coming out slow and soft. 

 

_ “I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? _

_ And that I was a maiden Queen _

_ Guarded by an Angel mild: _

_ Witless woe was ne’er beguiled! _

 

_ And I wept both night and day, _

_ And he wiped my tears away; _

_ And I wept both day and night, _

_ And hid from him my heart’s delight. _

 

_ So he took his wings, and fled; _

_ Then the morn blushed rosy red. _

_ I dried my tears, and armed my fears _

_ With ten thousand shields and spears. _

 

_ Soon my Angel came again; _

_ I was armed, he came in vain; _

_ For the time of youth was fled, _

_ And grey hairs were on my head. _

 

Z looked up and kept speaking in the time that Anthony was processing. “I expected that..I expected that I would love you, and I would hide it. I expected that you would run, maybe to another. I expected that I would close myself to you, to love. I expected that I would grow old and still think of you, still imagine you in spaces where you could have been- my sofa, my kitchen, my bed,” Anthony swallowed at the thought, “I expected it and I let it happen and I love you and I wanted to say it before I became old and grey with regret.” 

 

“How can you become grey if your hair is already white?”

 

“Are you fucking with me?” Z was struggling to decide to be mad or laugh. 

 

“Look, I heard you, but I’m..” Anthony had to give the guy a reality check. It wouldn’t be fair to him to let him believe good things about him. “I’m no angel...quite the opposite, in fact, and Tracy was right, I am wrong for you, there are so many things you don’t even know about me!”

 

“Like what? What don’t I know? I know you’re an asshole! An annoying asshole!” Z regretted his harshness immediately and backtracked, but only a little, “an annoying asshole that I love”

 

“Like..I’m...I’m...I’m a liar” Anthony announced as if it was an accomplishment.

 

“What?” Z chuckled in disbelief and what Anthony imagined genuine humor, “when the fuck have you lied to me?”

 

“About ten seconds ago, when used the word ‘like.’”

 

Zira didn’t say anything after that. It’s important to note that during the course of the conversation that the 12 inches between them became 6 and then 3 and then Zira’s face- hurt and small and so gentle, and the real angel between the two of them- was all too close to Anthony’s. It is important to note that in the moment, Anthony was a maiden queen, and he imagined a life without Zira, and it scared him. It scared him so much he reacted, just as he had reacted before, but equal and opposite. Instead of pushing away, he pushed in, and 3 inches became 0. And his lips met their match. A match that became a fire that lit him from the inside out. Before he could let it overcome him, and burn him down where he stood, he pulled away to breathe out. 

 

“I lied because I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he continued, “and to be clear, you are The Angel. You know how much I like Queens.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please lmk any feedback and criticism :)


End file.
